


It's a Semi-Charmed Life

by The Stephanois (ballantine)



Series: Hat Verse [1]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternative Universe - Erik's Helmet Is A Hat, Angst, Angst and Humor, Baseball, M/M, Oblivious, really dumb kids, the 1990s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballantine/pseuds/The%20Stephanois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple months back, Erik started wearing this baseball hat around everywhere, and Charles hasn't seen him without it since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hat

**Author's Note:**

> The original conceit of this story was literally just: Erik's helmet is a baseball hat, and he's at that age where he doesn't ever take it off. 
> 
> This is a Middle School AU, starring baseball, the 90s, and small town shit. Uh, I swear it's meant to resemble X-Men at least a little. 
> 
> (oh god)
> 
> Unbetaed and deeply silly, you have been warned.  
> Title from the Third Eye Blind song of the same name. (Like I said: THE 90s. BE PREPARED.)

A couple months back, Erik started wearing this baseball hat around everywhere, and Charles hasn't seen him without it since.

He hates the fucking thing; it's this weird dark maroon color with a purple 'M' embroidered on the front panel. The only thing stopping people from making fun of Erik in the hallways was that they all thought he was completely psycho.

Charles, of course, knew the truth; Erik wasn't psycho, just an asshole. But he was pretty sure the hat was actually making things _worse_ , making people even more freaked out than before. It was just _that ugly._

“Is this because you didn't make the team?” He tried asking him one day as they were eating lunch on the bleachers. Erik's metal bat was propped against his backpack and seemed to rattle with annoyance at Charles's question. Erik, however, didn't change expression, just continued eating his sandwich like someone'd substituted shit for mayo. That godawful purple brim was pulled down low over his angry brow.

“No.” And then, sharply: “And I didn't _not_ make the team, they wouldn't let me play. S'different.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He'd heard the rant fifty times already. Charles regretted the situation, _of course_ he did. But he couldn't get too worked up about it; Class C middle school baseball was hardly the front line of the civil rights movement, so sue him. He downed the rest of his soda. “Hey, you wanna come over after school, get some Asheron's Call hours logged?”

“Nah,” Erik finished his sandwich, balled the little baggy up and tossed it into his backpack to join the other four from the week. “Got some stuff to do.” Then he got up, picked up his bat, and walked off down the bleacher steps, all without looking at Charles.

God, maybe he'd joined a _gang_.

–

“Erik's not in _gang_ ,” Raven said, wrinkling her blue nose and turning her face to examine it in the mirror. “He's too much of a dork, and dorks don't join gangs, they just grow up to take their stunted emotions out on girls and anonymous message boards.”

She was doing that disconcerting thing where she paraded about the house in a short dress and blue skin. That was another thing that started happening a few months ago. Turning thirteen had made Raven _crazy._

Given that Raven and Erik made up the vast majority of his social network, Charles felt like the whole world had suddenly gone mad... and a little tacky. He was thinking of buying some cardigans to make up for it.

“Well, why's he being such a dick, then?”

Raven rolled her eyes, “Maybe he just had stuff to do, god, why're you _obsessing_ about this?”

Charles thought of the empty computer room, of all the hours left in the day, and of the strange headaches that had started hitting him at random. He hadn't told anyone about that last bit, but worried about it almost constantly. What if he was one of those unlucky bastards who got, like, brain tumors at thirteen?

“Just bored, that's all.” He said.

–

A couple days later, Charles and Erik were standing in the cereal aisle of Seb's IGA. The plan had been to buy some snacks before going back to Charles's, but Erik was shaking his head as he went through his pockets. His ridiculous hat was pulled down low over his face, but not enough to hide his frown. Apparently he hadn't floated enough coins out from kids' pockets that day in school.

Charles had two ten-dollar bills in his wallet.

“You know, I could just—”

“It's fine, I've got it,” Erik said, even as he glanced around before shoving a bag of licorice down the front of his jeans. His bat was in danger of falling out of his mostly-unzipped backpack. His shirt had a rip along the arm seam. He looked, frankly, like a punk.

Charles assumed that's why he could barely look at him.

  


 


	2. The Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when you feel right, there's a groove there, and the bat just eases into it and meets that ball. When the bat meets that ball and you feel that ball just give, you know it's going to go a long way. 
> 
> Damn, if you don't feel like you're going to live forever. 
> 
> \- Buck Weaver, Eight Men Out

When they had first told Erik he wouldn't be allowed to play baseball with the team, every locker throughout the school shook and Principal Kelly's glasses broke clean in half.

The story had made the town paper: _Mutant Incident at M-o-H School Over Competitive Sports Ruling_ , and then, in smaller font: _None Injured Though Serious_ _Questions Remain._

(John Allerdyce, editor of the barely-weekly _Molesworth-on-Hudson Telgram_ , was an excitable newsman.) 

Charles had gotten detention for rushing out of class without a pass, but it was worth it to stop Erik in the parking lot from taking his bat to the coach's pickup. Charles couldn't explain how he knew exactly where to go, but Erik hadn't asked and he'd shrugged it off as intuition.

That was something teachers used to say all the time to his politely attentive mother in parent-teacher conferences: Charles is a such an _intuitive_ little boy. The phrasing had changed as he got older, and now he _didn't respect other people's boundaries_. None of it made any sense to him, but his mother and Kurt didn't care as long as no complaint went on record, so, you know—whatever. 

\--

It was 9 PM on a school night, and Erik had convinced him to come along to the batting cages. Or, rather, Erik had said he was going to go break in to the batting cages, and Charles had volunteered to be his lookout.

“You're rubbing your temple again.” Erik said.

Charles glanced up, but his friend wasn't looking him, he was glaring over at the pitching machine. Charles let his hand drop down. “It's fine, just a headache.”

Erik only grunted and threw his shoulder into the next swing. It connected and the chain-link fence rattled with the force of the returned baseball.

Erik was tall and lanky; he'd hit a growth spurt last year that hadn't yet shown any signs of stopping. Most of the time he cut an awkward profile, walked around in a slouch, shoulders down, hands in pockets. But slap a bat in his hand and he _transformed_ , the long lines of his limbs went fluid, suddenly made sense, like he'd existed all along for that singular purpose—swing, _crack!_

Watch it _fly_.

Charles sighed and leaned back to look up at the dark sky. Erik's new abilities had changed more things than just his sports eligibility. Sneaking into places used to be a lot more fun, Charles thought not for the first time. Back when it was something that required effort, something they could _both_ play a part in. But now, with the world simultaneously more accessible and more hostile than its ever been before to Erik, it had kind of lost its luster. 

After a few more minutes of frustrated swinging, Erik walked over to sit next to Charles, shoulder bumping his companionably through the fence. He slipped off his batting helmet and before Charles got more than a glimpse of his flattened hair, replaced it with that damn hat, squaring it tight against his forehead. His arm was hot and damp with sweat where it pressed against Charles. 

“So. You've been getting a lot of headaches lately.” Erik said. His serious eyes searched Charles out in the yellow cast of the cage light. “Anything I should know?” 

Charles shrugged, “If there was anything to know, you'd already know it.” He studied the slant of their shadows on the ground, two shapes made into one against the pattern of the fence links. “Look—do you want me to quit the team?” 

Charles wasn't like Erik; he hovered around average in both height and abilities. He liked running around but hated the endless  _waiting_ and  _throwing_ . The only reason he started playing back when he was younger was because little league was the only summer rec program in Westchester County that wasn't completely lame. And then, well—then he'd met Erik and  _that_ was reason enough to continue when they reached sixth grade and started forming proper teams. 

Erik was shaking his head adamantly. “No. No, you don't have—shouldn't do that. Don't do that.” 

“Right,” Charles nodded, didn't think about it. “Well, I'm gonna.” 

“Charles,” Erik sounded bewildered, which made kinda made Charles want to punch him. “ _Really_ , you don't have to. I mean,” His eyes were wide underneath the brim of his hat. “ _I_ wouldn't.” Like the thought of voluntarily giving up baseball was just inconceivable to him. 

Charles shrugged again. “I'm not as into it as you are, you know that. And besides, without you there, there's not much point.” Then, to cover, “It's not like we'll be winning much without you.” 

And Erik, who was prickly and defensive about pretty much everything else in the world, acknowledged the compliment with a simple and unsuspecting nod. 


	3. The Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The magics of this world shall not apply to you, my brothers. You shall no longer lose your strength, your will, your endurance. You shall no longer fall prey to those pusillanimous fiends who fear the true glory of combat. 
> 
> Claim your destiny, brothers. 
> 
> \- Tua Rulutonga, found at 86.4S 80.4W in Asheron's Call on the Withered Atoll

“Would you just drop something, already? This is getting ridiculous,” Charles stopped running and sat back from his computer to glare over at the other side of the room. They were traveling to Nanto, and it was taking fucking _forever_.

Erik sat slouched in front of his own computer, hands in his lap as he controlled his mouse, because he was a show-off. He looked at Charles without turning his head. “What?”

“You know what. You're overburdened, it's slowing us down.”

“Bullshit, I'm only at 150 percent.”

“That's like a _60 percent skills reduction_ , Erik. And I thought we were going to do the Drudges assignment over in the Southern hills today.”

Erik sighed gustily, “All right, all right, hang on a moment.” He reluctantly clicked over to squint hard at his inventory.

Charles groaned. “Just drop some pyreals and let's _go_.” 

Erik balked. “No  _way_ , are you insane?” 

Erik was the worst kind of MMORPG player; he was a hoarder, a complete miser--he acted like his digital coins were worth real money, and reacted to perfectly reasonable suggestions as if Charles had told him to give away his lunch money.

“We've got _plenty—_ ”

“Hey, Charles, have you seen my—Oh!” Raven, having wandered into the computer room blue and in her pajamas (and not her at-a-sleepover-or-there's-work-being-done-on-the-house pajamas, but her more usual ensemble of flannel pants and gigantic shirt that practically went to her elbows and knees), saw Erik and promptly changed, a cascade of scales turning her from blue to peaches-and-cream, hair growing longer and blonde, and a wide smile appearing on her face. “ _Hi_ , Erik.”

Charles wrinkled his nose over his shoulder at her, impatient. “ _Yes_ , Raven, what is it?”

In the past her main interactions with Erik had involved Raven kicking closed doors and demanding to be allowed to join in while he and Charles laughed on the other side. Ever since his mutation had manifested, however, Erik had began to study her with a speculative gleam in his eye. Charles didn't like it.

(Raven had manifested in the middle of the cafeteria last December, a year before Erik, amidst gasps and screams and dropped lunch trays. She'd ran, parting the sea of gaping students, and locked herself in a bathroom for three hours, hysterical and choking on tears, before a frantic Charles finally persuaded her to come out. The memory of the shattered mirror and the uncontrollable trembling of her strange new body, of how she ducked her head to hide under his peacoat as he helped her out of the school and to their waiting car, of how she didn't come out of her room for two weeks—it was the only thing that stopped him from calling her a brat at times like this.)

Erik blinked over at her, startled. “Why'd you change?”

Raven made an aborted grab for her elbows and flushed; she didn't like talking about it. She quickly covered by turning away from him, deliberately aloof. “Charles, I was wondering if you'd seen my tennis racket? I can't find it anywhere.” 

Charles shrugged, already turning back to his game. “Nope.” 

She didn't leave, _though she was intensely aware of her ragged T-shirt, the heat of her face, and the suddenly new and alien Erik sitting over in the corner. He was wearing that new hat backwards today, and she liked the boldness of it. She could just leave, but she didn't want to look like she was retreating._

Charles rubbed his temple irritably and continued to ignore her.

She drifted around the periphery of the small room for a while, poking at the computer speakers and wires, nudging the dusty software boxes with her bare feet, generally being an annoyance and a distraction. Eventually she said, “So, what're you guys playing?”

Charles threw her an incredulous look.

She made a small face back at him, _what? Jeez._

In response he said loudly, “Okay, _good-bye_ Raven, see you at supper.” He got up and started to usher her out, which she resisted—subtly at first, trying to maintain composure, but after a few seconds the conflict had devolved to just shoving at each other. This made things difficult, because she was taller than him, but eventually he got her to the door. She kicked him hard in the shin as he forced her out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

The wood didn't do much to muffle her parting shout, “You're such an _asshole_ , Charles!”

He shook his head and went back to the computer. Glanced at the screen—Erik had bought an augmentation to increase his carrying capacity. He was looking over at Charles, smug and amused, waiting for his reaction.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Some day, you know, you're going to have to learn to make sacrifices.”

\--

Later that night, Charles was walking through the front hall when he spotted his mother in the side sitting room. She'd been out all day, so he walked in to speak with her. But then she glanced over and... and then— _oh for god's sake, not now, not now, just go away, can't deal with you right now please no—_ and Charles stumbled to a halt in the doorway. He stared at her, and she looked back down at her book, cool as you please. 

“Yes, Charles, what is it?” She reached for her wine glass. 

“I... nothing,” He reached up and rubbed his temple, which was suddenly throbbing. “Nothing, Mother, sorry—I was just going to wish you a good night.” 

“Good night, dear,” she said. She gave him a small smile, and somehow he just _knew_ it was false. He nodded, but she was already turning back to her book. As he stepped backwards from the doorway, out of the light from the sitting room and into the dark hall, he _felt_ a wave of relief. The dissonance between the feeling and his own hurt and panic made his vision swim for a moment, and he had to reach out to steady himself on the stairway bannister.  


He could pretend he didn't know what was happening to him, but standing there alone in the dark, it seemed silly to lie to himself.  


 


	4. The Bike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If his chest had been a cannon, he would have shot his heart upon it. 
> 
> \- ~~Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek: First Contact~~  
>  \- Herman Melville, Moby Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have a plot line for this story now? Not to impress you all with my professionalism and quality, but I wasn't really expecting that. So... in the words of The Comedian, god help us all.

Charles never saw much of Erik actually _in_ school, which was quite a feat in a place the size of Molesworth-on-Hudson Middle School. They were in separate homerooms and on opposite class rotations. Erik was also perennially tardy, so Charles rarely got to see him in the mornings either.

Erik usually turned up for lunch though, waiting for Charles by leaning against the doors of the cafeteria and scowling around like he didn't know it made people nervous.

They almost always ate outside, which was a real bitch in the winter, but that one Fork Incident three months back had some pretty inevitable repercussions: one-week suspension for Erik, the school switched over to plastic cutlery, and now they ate out on the bleachers.

Charles tried not to mind too much; he'd rather shiver and chew his chilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich with Erik than sit at a warm table without him. Erik never said anything about it; it was as if he thought the bleachers were a perfectly normal location for lunch, like they'd never done it differently.

They used to meet up after school most days as well, but lately Erik had been begging off hanging out and canceling standing plans. He never looked at Charles when he did it, which was the most frustrating part of the whole thing.

Charles said, “What do you mean, 'you can't today,' we've been planning this for _weeks_.”

 _Star Trek: First Contact_ was finally coming to the second-run budget cinema two towns over in Croton-on-Hudson. And, okay, Charles had already seen it three times during the winter, _but_ this would be his last chance to see it on the big screen, and then it'd be _months_ before it was available on tape. Erik, though clearly not in possession of as deep or abiding a respect for the great Captain Jean-Luc Picard as Charles, had seemed enthusiastic about it when Charles first brought it up. And now he was fucking welshing.

Erik pulled his bike out of the rack. “Yeah, I know, but—I just forgot, okay. Something came up.”

“Something,” Charles quoted, throwing his hands up. “And you can't tell me what this _something_ is. For _some reason._ ”

Erik sighed and looked at his shoes, then away into the distance—a new habit that Charles found extremely irritating. It's not that Erik would argue with him or make excuses—he'd just fall silent, leaving Charles to suffocate on his own words.

He squinted hard at Erik, trying to see if he could pick up anything with his—you know, whatever. But, as was typical, the ability wasn't so easily directed. All he got was a dissipated feeling of unease and impatience and a terrible headache.

Eventually Erik gave him a nod and a brief, complicated smile. Then he rode off on his monstrosity of a bike.

–

Despite the headache, Charles went to go see the movie anyway. By himself, because even his driver Howlett didn't want to hang out with him.

In a futile act of revenge against Erik, he even skipped the pre-movie ritual of grabbing snacks at the IGA to sneak in. It felt surprisingly vicious but satisfying to pay for the over-priced concessions, to slap down three dollars without blinking or shifting awkwardly for Erik. The popcorn was dry and the candy stale, but he ate it all before the movie started. Then he sat through the stomach ache and didn't even crack a smile at drunk Troi or Steppenwolf. 

–

Erik used to take Charles up on his offer to drop him off places, but now he biked instead. Like, he actively _chose_ to bike the three miles home to Colonial Acres Park instead of accepting the offer of a 5-minute ride. Charles found it absolutely baffling.

The bike itself wasn't actually new, Erik'd had it before, but over the months he'd started adding to it. Sometimes useful things like lights, a compass, a rack—but he'd also taken to decorating it with random bits of metal, like he'd gone arts and crafts shopping in the junk yard.

(Actually, poking through the junk yard used to be a favorite past time of theirs the summer they were eleven years old. It was pretty close to Colonial Acres and at the time felt like an exotic wonderland to Charles. Then one day he'd cut his palm open on a rusty fender and had to go to the hospital for ten stitches and a tetanus shot. His mother had forbidden him from ever going there again. That was also about the time Howlett started driving him everywhere.)

Anyway: the bike. It had started out blue, but one day Erik turned up to school with it spray painted a messy purple—and not even a purple that matched his stupid hat. The spokes started to collect small glittering pieces of metal, and occasionally a new pipe would find itself wrapped around one of the bars like a candy cane stripe.

Charles started to think that maybe Erik had just mutated into a magpie.


	5. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Invite someone inside your armor.
> 
> \- Fruitopia TV Spot

Over the next few days, Charles didn't really do much except practice using his mind during school. Picking thoughts up was erratic and likely to give him a migraine. Trying to listen to only one person was surprisingly difficult, and more often than not he'd get flooded with several voices at once, a bombardment of petty emotions and banal thoughts that made him feel like he was going insane if he listened too long.

He found that projecting his own thoughts—and _commands_ , even, he'd have to be careful with that—was easier to get the hang of. It required more concentration and effort than listening, but was cleaner to control and direct. In fifth period he made the teacher give him a hall pass and practically skipped down the hallway.

He surprised himself with his own dedication; in baseball he'd always dragged his feet, spent most of practices daydreaming in the outfield or hunched over his Gameboy Pocket in the bullpen. This latter habit really annoyed Coach Stryker and was probably a big reason Charles only ever made relief pitcher. Erik had always loyally insisted that, if the two of them were playing in the big leagues, Charles would at least be a closer.

Erik started to fidget during lunch after two days of Charles going home without asking about hanging out, casting quick, confused glances at him when he thought he wasn't looking. Later that day Erik awkwardly asked about putting in some hours on Asheron's Call, and for one afternoon it was like everything was back to normal.

But the next day after school, he rode off on his bike again without a backwards glance.

–

One day at 3:30, Charles informed Howlett that he wouldn't be needing his services for a few hours. Raven, already in the car, stuck her head out the window to give him a skeptical look, one eerily matched by the driver.

Howlett was leaning against the bumper of the car, which meant 1) he'd been smoking one of those cigars again and B) there'd be more foot traffic in the parking lot than normal. Even slightly shorter than average and in a suit, Howlett bore an impressive physique. Next to him Charles felt even shrimpier than normal; it's why he preferred most of their conversations to occur sitting down with a seat between them.

Howlett cocked an eyebrow, “No can do, bub. I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight.”

Charles stared up at him in frustration. “I'm not going to _do_ anything illegal, it's ridiculous that I'm being treated like a delinquent.”

Howlett snorted. “I don't know what kind of delinquents _you_ know, Charlie, but in my world they don't get chauffeured around in a Rolls-Royce.” He lit up the stub of a cigar. “Now tell me what you want to do, and I'll think about it.”

“You are the worst employee we have _ever_ had.”

Howlett just looked down at him, unimpressed. Charles glanced over at Raven, feeling foolish, and sighed. “I want to... follow someone. But they'd notice the—” Charles waved at the gleaming example of luxury automotive engineering. He shrugged. “So.”

“So,” Howlett repeated and puffed unconcernedly on his cigar.

Raven gave Charles a knowing look and he caught a light touch of _he's sulking after Erik again_ , which was what spurred him to do what he did next.

He looked Howlett right in the eye and said firmly: “ _So I want you to take Raven home and then come back and park out by the junkyard to wait for me._ ” He paused and then added, “ _If Mother asks, tell her I've stayed behind for Chess Club_.”

Howlett's eyes went unfocused for a brief moment before he straightened up and dropped the cigar. With barely a glance at Charles, he went over to the driver's side and got in. Even though he'd been practicing, Charles still felt shocked that it worked.

Raven watched all this happen with a gobsmacked expression. She whipped back around to stare at Charles, who couldn't help but smirk giddily and wave a little.

“You _—Charles_?” She looked almost betrayed, which killed the smirk pretty quick. “Charles, what's going on?”

Suddenly feeling guilty, he leaned into the window and whispered, “Look, I'll tell you everything tonight, just please—don't say anything to Mother.”

“Do I ever?” She said, and jabbed a finger out the window, narrowly missing his nose. “ _Promise_ me—tonight, you'll tell me what's going on with you.”

Her eyes were seeping gold, a sure sign that she was upset. Charles paused before replying, suddenly abashed. In all his preoccupation with his new abilities and Erik's stupidity, he'd forgotten what it might mean to Raven, to have common ground again--that they might be social pariahs together.

He took a breath, met her eyes, and concentrated. _I promise, Raven._

When her eyes went wide and fully gold, he knew she'd heard.

 


	6. The Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn: Are you centered, Cory?  
> Cory: Obviously not like you.  
> Shawn: I like The Centre, Cor.  
> Cory: Um, listen, Shawn, just what exactly is this “Centre” of which you speak?  
> Shawn: It’s _not_ a cult.  
>  Cory: ...Uh-huh.
> 
> \- Boy Meets World, S04E21

So Charles followed Erik, so what.

It was actually pretty cool; at first he'd worried that he'd lose sight of him, but then he figured out how to see through other people's eyes. (The next time he and Erik snuck in somewhere, he was _totally_ going to be able to pull his own weight.)

Turns out Erik didn't actually go that far—about 8 blocks over to Oak Street, whereupon he set his bike up against a squat cement building with darkened windows. Charles, having ran the distance (#1 in the grade for the mile at 6:45; he'd gotten the blue Presidential fitness badge in gym three years in a row, thank you very much), ducked behind the corner of the block and watched.

Erik strolled up to the building and knocked on the door, which opened a crack. After a quick exchange of words that Charles didn't catch with either his ears or his... other sense, Erik was allowed to slip inside.

Charles didn't like this. He'd noticed the building before in passing—again, M-o-H wasn't that big—and it was usually deserted. Sometimes there'd be loud bass coming from inside and guys— _older_ guys, like, 17-year-olds—would hang around outside smoking cigarettes. They all wore baggy, dirty clothing: ripped jeans and flannel shirts. His mother said they were hooligans; Howlett called them twerps.

Well, nothing for it; Charles tugged his polo shirt straight and crossed the street to the building. Faced with the battered wooden door with its peeling green paint and what passed for graffiti in M-o-H, Charles tried to look nonchalant. He went to open the door, found it locked.

Okay, so much for sneaking in. He rapped smartly on the door and then took a short step backwards to allow it to open. After a minute or so of no answer, he knocked again, more forcefully.

The door finally cracked open and a boy maybe one or two years older than Charles looked out. Charles was pretty sure he didn't go to M-o-H. He had a shock of messy red hair and freckles across his nose, which wrinkled as he took Charles in.

“Uh, is this a church thing? Because we're not interested.”

Charles felt himself go red, “No!” He folded his arms. “I'm looking for Erik.”

“Erik?” Freckles looked confused for a split second before his expression cleared. “Oh, you mean Magneto? Yeah, dude, he's here.” He looked expectantly at Charles.

 _Magneto? Oh good lord._ Charles refrained from addressing that for now and raised an eyebrow. “So... can I see him?”

“Oh,” Freckles glanced over his shoulder. “Sure thing, man. Hang on a sec.” Then he let the door shut in Charles's face. Charming.

After an even longer period of time, the door opened again and Erik, looking incredulous and then wary, stepped outside. He stared at Charles, clearly surprised. Charles found himself looking at the 'M' on his hat with new eyes.

He gestured to it. “So, the 'M', this whole time I thought you were doing some Scarlet Letter thing, you know? Thought it stood for _mutant_ , but now I'm thinking it stands for _Magneto._ ”

Erik shrugged, deliberately casual. “Guy at the shop said I was too young for a tattoo, so I got the hat.”

Charles took a brief second to absorb the horror of Erik with a _Magneto_ tattoo and then shoved the emotion away. He nodded to the building. “So, this is where you've been going recently?”

Erik flicked his eyes up and down the street. “Where's the car?”

“I didn't take the car.”

“Howlett let you go off on your own?”

“ _Yes_ and don't change the subject.”

“I wasn't,” Erik shrugged helplessly. “Yes, Charles, this is where I go. Question is, why are you acting like some jealous girlfriend and _following_ me?”

Charles froze.

“I'm not,” he said, lips numb. “I— _god_ , fuck you, Erik. I just wanted to know why my supposed best friend was suddenly avoiding me all the time.”

A look of guilt crossed Erik's face and he suddenly crossed the sidewalk to slump down on the curb, head down. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn't mean that.”

After a moment, Charles dropped down to sit beside him—though not close enough to brush shoulders or anything like that.

“Is this about the mutant thing?”

Erik shrugged again. “Kinda. Some of the other guys are mutants too. Banshee—Sean—the guy you talked to, he's one.”

Charles thought about asking what he could do, but he honestly didn't give a shit at the moment. “Okay, but—what, is it some kind of social club, what'd you guys do in there?” _Why couldn't you invite me?_

“Well, the Brotherhood likes to—”

“The... _Brotherhood_?” Oh god, it's so much worse than a gang, Charles realized. Erik had gone and joined a _cult_.

“Yeah.” Erik nodded, bouncing his knees to mask his hesitance. He kept glancing at Charles out of the corner of his eye. “We're—well, we're the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants.”

Charles blinked, “Wow, they don't really go in for subtlety, do they?”

Erik scowled, “ _What_?"

“What?”

“Are you making fun of it?” Erik stood up. “See, Charles, this is why I didn't tell you, you can be so stuck up—”

Charles joined him standing. “Stuck up? Wow, thanks _a lot_ , Erik. So sorry if I'm a little concerned that you've joined some kind of—brotherhood— _cult-group_.”

“ _What_?”

“What?”

“The hell is wrong with you? We're not a _cult, w_ e're a _band_.”

Charles stared, brought up short. “A... band? What, like music?”

“Yeah.” Erik rolled his eyes and, despite the red staining his cheeks, determinedly stared down Charles, who didn't know how to react in the slightest. A few seconds of silence passed. A car went by on the street.

Then Charles began to bite his lip.

Erik narrowed his eyes.

“That's a terrible name.” Charles said at last.

Erik exploded, “You _are_ making fun of it!”

Charles raised his hands, “Don't get me wrong, Erik, I'm glad that you're not in a cult. But uh, _evil_ _mutants_? Really?”

“It's a _statement._ ”

Charles was very familiar with both wanting to laugh at Erik or march beside him into war, but usually he wasn't feeling both things at the same time. He shook his head, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah—of alienation and, like, rejection of society.” He looked at Charles for a long moment and then turned away, face dark. “I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

And suddenly Charles didn't feel like laughing anymore.


	7. The Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think he set the world up and I think he shocked the world.
> 
> \- Green Bay Packer Andre Rison on Desmond Howard, Super Bowl XXXI

He badgered, cajoled, and eventually outright insisted on Erik coming back to the house that evening. Erik, mostly puzzled and still a little disgruntled, agreed when he hinted that it had something to do with mutants.

–

So maybe it was unfair that Charles had kept his suspicions about himself quiet, that he hadn't told Raven and Erik immediately. After all, it's not like either of them were given the privilege of a discreet entry into mutantkind. Raven's manifestation had cost her friends and led to lingering social anxiety issues. And Erik's... well.

People would be terrified of Erik even if he _hadn't_ been known to have a bad temper based solely on _that_ day.

Crushed trucks and coma patients tended to have that effect on people.

–

His mother and Kurt were arguing loudly in the library when they arrived back in the house, the same bullshit bitching about careers and London that they'd been circling for a few months now. Charles, used to it, headed straight upstairs. In the back of his mind, he could feel Erik hesitate awkwardly before following.

“What was all _that_ about?” He asked, more used to pervasive silences and stiff small talk when visiting than furious shouting.

Charles shrugged. “Nothing important.” Nothing ever was, when it involved Kurt. “Something to do with the company offices, I think.”

They went up to the computer room, their default hang-out. Charles flicked on the lights, threw a bunch of junk off the rarely used couch, and then went to fetch Raven.

–

It had been in December, near the end of the semester. Most of the schools across Westchester County had called a snow day and closed, but the school district of Molesworth-on-Hudson was made of sterner stuff.

So come 3:30 PM, Charles, Raven and Erik were standing waiting to be picked up on the corner of where the school drive met Highway 129. They'd seen four teachers already shoveling, shoving, and cursing their vehicles in the blanketed parking lot, so the three of them figured it was probably smarter for Howlett to just avoid entering it altogether. Highway 129 wasn't in much better condition than the parking lot, but at least in had been plowed once or twice during the day.

Charles remembered being very cold.

–

Raven was in her sleepover pajamas but also her blue form. She entered the room after Charles and then smiled hesitantly at Erik before settling on the end of the couch and pulling a cushion to her chest. Both she and Erik looked up at Charles expectantly.

He stood there, staring back at them, suddenly unsure of how well he'd planned this.

–

He'd always wonder at how the world could rearrange itself so quickly.

A steady line of afternoon traffic was making its way down the highway through town, lights turned on against the fog of snow and darkening afternoon sky. Standing on his tiptoes, shivering, and squinting from car to car, Charles thought he saw the familiar circular headlights of the Royce.

So he threw up his hand and stepped forward to wave it down—but the sidewalk hadn't been shoveled enough that day, and he slipped and stumbled over the curb.

–

So Charles had a whole speech about his mutation planned out—warm, comforting, and smart, basically his _specialty_ okay—but it suddenly felt wrong to give it. Like he could say anything about being a mutant that Raven and Erik didn't know and know _better_.

“Um,” he said.

–

And Charles didn't clearly remember the next minute or so after; it was all squealing brakes and screeching and then the icy sting of snow seeping in through his gloves and pants. He was on the ground, head pounding because he must have hit it when he fell.

He turned slightly, dazed, and looked up at where Erik was kneeling over him, hair dark and wild against the white sky, eyes wide and fixed on the street. After another couple seconds of catching his breath, Charles realized Erik had one hand on his shoulder and the other thrown out into the air, fingers splayed.

Charles struggled to sit up, eyes blinking away the driving snowfall. He looked past Erik's hand and saw—a car?

No, a truck. It was jackknifed across the road only a few feet away and angled like it had been headed straight for where they were standing. The top of the cab was completely crushed, like it had slammed into a solid wall of rock. Charles didn't understand anything he was seeing. What had happened?

“It almost hit you,” was all Erik could gasp, eyes still on the wreckage. Charles hadn't spoken.

And then the screaming and crying faded back in to the scene.

–

“Charles, if you seriously dragged me away from band practice to just stand there and—”

“You're in a band?” Raven asked Erik with interest.

Erik blinked and then turned to her. His mouth began curling up a little at the corners.

Charles looked between the two of them and said loudly, “I can read your minds.”

And _that_ got their attention.

 


	8. The Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you 'bout a thing, gotta put it to the test  
> It's a celebration, motivation, generation X
> 
> \- Spice Girls, “Generation Next”

“ _What_?” That was Erik.

“Since when, Charles?” That was Raven.

Erik paled and turned on him with a new burn of betrayal in his eyes. “Yeah, since _when_?”

They were both on their feet, crowding him—unfortunate because he was the shortest, and the small room didn't exactly leave space for escape. He butted up against his computer desk and put his hands up placatingly.

“I don't know how long,” he began, and then they both looked so disbelieving he couldn't help but feel a flicker of anger. He latched onto it gratefully (nothing was worse than knowing you were in the wrong in a conversation). “Hey, it's not like it was with you guys, it's not a damn switch, okay? Mostly it's been shitty headaches and me thinking I was going insane because of the voices in my head.”

He stood straight and glared. Raven was the first to relent, to back up and sit down once more on the couch. Erik spent several more seconds staring at Charles with narrowed eyes before he followed suit. Then he picked at the knee hole in his jeans and avoided looking at anyone.

“So what have you—what can you do?” He asked.

Charles took a breath and started explaining as clearly as he could—he could send and receive occasional thoughts and feelings, give orders, detect people... Charles fumbled once or twice in his descriptions, not having an entirely solid grasp of it himself. “It's how I knew where to find you that day they kicked you off the team,” he finished somewhat lamely. “But I don't have full control over any of it yet—mostly it's been accidental stuff. Like, I probably wouldn't be able to read your minds right now if I tried. That part's been the slowest in coming for some reason.”

He offered that last point like an olive branch, because the truth was—he was _nervous_. Real nervous. Rightfully so, given what their initial reaction had been. His abilities were not like theirs, and telepathy was some freaky fucking business, even to fellow... mutants or whatever. No one liked the idea that the contents of their own minds wouldn't be private.

The point seemed to do the trick—they both relaxed slightly. Charles swallowed, a little disappointed. Then he told himself it didn't matter.

“Look,” he said. “I know I probably could have been better about this whole thing, even before I knew about myself—I could have been more supportive, or understanding—but I want you guys to know that.” He took a breath, shoved his hands in his pockets, “That I'm with you on this. We're in it together. Okay?”

Raven surged up from the couch and squeezed the breath out of him in a hug. “You never treated me differently after last winter,” she whispered in his ear. “That meant a lot more than you could know.”

Charles desperately wanted to make a 'well, actually: telepathy' joke, but wisely refrained; it was too soon. So he hugged her back and just generally tried not to get teary and emotional like a fucking wimp.

He and Raven had been very close when they were younger, curling up together on couches or meeting and huddling under blankets when the arguments downstairs got too loud. The past couple of years had put a distance between them as Raven suddenly grew and changed (and then _really_ changed). And, well. 

It was a pretty big house when you were by yourself. 

Charles opened his eyes and looked down at Erik over Raven's shoulder. His heart flipped. 

Erik, sitting forward and looking up at them both—Erik was  _smiling._

It was a real smile, wide and bright and vaguely alarming in its intensity, Charles's absolutely favorite kind of a smile. 

He'd missed it.

 


	9. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow was loyal, Shadow was faithful... Shadow was a chump. 
> 
> \- Chance, _Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey_

And then it was just like the good old days for a while.

They went to go see _Star Trek_ (Charles didn't mention that he already went; it was, after all, the last chance to see it on the big screen, okay). Skipped the IGA, but Charles put his finger to his temple and got the boy behind the counter to make them fresh popcorn for _free_. Went to the batting cages during the daytime, and Charles convinced the supervisor it was okay. Ate lunch inside in the teacher's lounge, though it was mostly Erik eating and snorting laughter as Charles concentrated on making the teachers not see them.

Charles was going to bed at night with a honest-to-god montage running behind his eyelids – mostly just Erik laughing, bright and loud, his stupid hat tipped upwards so Charles could see his crinkled eyebrows. Suddenly they were laughing all the time now – the world was their fucking _oyster._

Life as a mutant was _so much better_.

–

A few days later, Charles was walking with Erik and Sean to the Brotherhood's practice studio (their term, not Charles's). They were closing in on it, and Charles could already see where Howlett was idling the car a block over. A steady stream of smoke was rising from where the man leaned against a building a few feet away.

Charles and Erik had silently agreed that the whole band thing was best left alone. Charles still made faces at its mentioning, Erik still scowled, but they both were too leery of ruining their newfound truce to do anything about it.

“...and that was how Kelly's files ended up down the garbage disposal.” Erik finished. “You should have seen his _face_ , it was – ” He shook his bat meaningfully. “ – beautiful. Just beautiful.”

Charles, who nearly had a heart attack the day of that particular event, laughed gamely along with the other two.

“Man, _how_ have you not been expelled yet?” Sean shook his head. “All the things you've told me about, all that crazy shit. You're like the luckiest dude I've ever met, I swear.” He sketched a vague, indecipherable motion in the air. “It's like some kind of angel or spirit is looking out for you, you know?”

Their walking pace slowed and then stopped altogether. Charles blinked; Erik furrowed his brow.

They looked at each other.

“Have you been...” Erik began.

“Oh my god,” Charles said.

“Ah.”

“Oh my _god._ ”

Erik tapped his bat against the ground and then leaned his whole shoulder over it, face thoughtful. “You know, that really makes a lot of sense.”

“What have I— _how_ could I—”

Erik continued on airily, “I mean, remember the gym incident? Or that time with the flagpole? I heard that kid even had to go to the hospital—”

Sean was looking with a little confusion at Charles, who was staring at the pavement and possibly hyperventilating, but at Erik's words he nodded in recognition, “Oh, _yeah_ , Frankie. I remember that one—wasn't too serious, just needed some antibiotics to help prevent infection.”

“Right, right.”

Charles made a wheezing noise. Erik rolled his eyes and threw an arm over Charles's shoulder.

“And you know, Charles,” Erik said, “This _is_ the same administration that wouldn't let me play baseball, they're obviously hardasses. In retrospect, we really should have wondered why they were going so easy on me.” He paused, and Charles unfortunately glanced up in time to see an unholy light spark and grow in his eyes.

“No,” Charles said, raising his hands. “Whatever it is, the answer is _no_.”

“Charles, no, _come_ _on_ —you could get them to let me back on the _team_!” Erik reached around with his other hand to grab Charles by the shoulder and spin him so they were inches apart. Charles looked up at his friend's hopeful face and felt sick.

“Erik—if I was the one – look, I wasn't doing any of that on purpose. I don't even know _how_ I could have... _God_.” Charles took a breath, “I just don't think I should be messing with people's minds. Not to that degree.”

Sean glancing between the two of them, started to look a little uncertain. He hadn't known about Charles's mutation, Charles remembered distantly.

Erik shook his head dismissively. “This has _gotta_ be easier than everything else you've already done. It's not a big deal, no one's going to get hurt—it's just baseball, right?” He grinned wide at Charles then, as if _just baseball_ hadn't been the reason he almost flipped all the lockers in the school. As if _just baseball_ wasn't the reason he'd nearly smashed out Coach Stryker's windshield and spent the past several weeks looking like someone had died. As if _just baseball_ wasn't the reason Charles had to stand by and watch the boy he—shit.

_Shit._

Charles felt like a bomb had gone off in his head, leaving him stunned. All he could do for several moments was stare up at his friend, his best _fucking_ friend, his _only fucking friend_ , and realize how very wrong absolutely everything suddenly was.

Erik's smile faded to something a little less blinding. Looking confused, he patted Charles shoulders once before letting his hands drop. “Look, just... just think about it, okay? I know you haven't got a full handle on everything yet, so. You know, take some time.” Then he bit his lip, “But there's a game in a week, so don't take too long, yeah?”

Then he and a slightly more jumpy Sean walked off, headed for band practice and leaving Charles to stare at the cracked and weedy sidewalk.

If he started going over all the incidents and fuck-ups that Erik had been involved in over the past six months, the clues started to come together to form a terrible and terribly embarrassing picture.

He'd apparently manipulated the emotions, thoughts, and decisions of adults—of _many_ adults.

He'd done this unconsciously, while running after Erik and worrying about him, his emotions, and his future.

He'd orchestrated a cover-up of several serious infractions of both school rules and probably local ordinances. Maybe state laws. Repeatedly.

Oh _god_.

Charles's stupid fucking crush had taken over the world.


	10. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never told anybody to lie, not a single time; never.
> 
> \- William Jefferson Clinton, 42nd President of the United States

Charles was still in a daze by the time he returned home, enough that he wandered past the cardboard boxes and milling workmen in the entrance hall without blinking or questioning. He climbed the stairs, dropped his bookbag in the hallway, and pitched face-first down on the couch in the computer room. He lay there for a while, trying valiantly not to cringe every few seconds.

Eventually his stupor was interrupted by Raven cheerfully swinging into the room. She paused, one hand still holding the door knob, and looked down at him with a frown.

“You taking it _that_ badly?”

Charles wondered if she somehow had heard or if maybe he'd been projecting unconsciously. He didn't think it was the latter, so he grunted a vague questioning sound at her.

Raven ignored him and plopped down in the computer chair, kicking her feet up to the couch, right beside his head. He shoved at them ineffectually for a second or two before subsiding pitifully back into despair and mortification.

After a few minutes her emotions started to press in on him, conflicting swirls of anticipation and nervousness, excitement and melancholy. He figured that it wasn't because of him, so he finally hauled himself up on one arm and squinted at her.

“What's going on? Why're you all,” and he flapped his hand, hoping it conveyed the right mixture of emotions.

She said, “I get why you're upset, Charles, but I, for one, am pretty psyched _._ You realize that no one will have to know what I actually look like, right? I won't even tell them I'm a mutant! Or, at least,” She frowned. “I don't think I will, anyway. Do you know if the English have laws about that?”

“What are you talking about?” He had a sinking feeling that everything was about to get a lot worse.

Raven's wide smile wavered; she started to look apprehensive. “England, Charles. London?” The smile dropped. “Are you serious right now?”

“Raven—” Charles sat all the way up and grabbed her ankle to give her a snakebite. She gasped in outrage and kicked him in the chest in retaliation, but he held on through it. “What. Are you. Talking about?”

“Jeez, Charles.” She stared at him like he was an idiot. “The move?”

He dropped her leg. “We're moving? To _England?_ ”

And, sure, it's not like the thought of running away somewhere crazy hadn't crossed his mind as a possible solution in the past hour, but this seemed _a_ _tad_ drastic. And sudden.

“They've been arguing about it for literally _weeks_ , we've been packing up for the past couple of days, how the hell have you not noticed?”

He could only blink stupidly at her. “Well, why didn't you tell me? Or at least – _say_ something?”

“I thought you just didn't want to talk about it on top of everything with Erik!” And then she bit her lip, “Do you think they'd let us take Erik along? I feel bad about leaving him here on his own.” Aside from her relief and anticipation, the emotions she was projecting at the mention of Erik were uncomfortably close to his own, which was just too fucked up for Charles to handle at the moment.

So he ignored it. “...When are we going?”

She retracted her legs, tucked them up underneath her body. “They're allowing us to finish the quarter out.”

That was in a couple weeks.

So... they were moving. To England.

–

Charles was understandably distracted over the next few days.

He spent _hours_ that first night trying to change Kurt and his mother's minds, but it wouldn't stick. He tried different angles of reason, manipulation both subtle and blunt, but none of it made a difference; they always got confused and vague and eventually shook it off.

What good was the fucking power, he thought savagely as he lay in bed. What was the fucking _point_ of it if he couldn't change something as important as this? An awful, desperate unhappiness settled in his chest.

He woke up the next morning with a migraine so bad he couldn't bear to open his eyes to the light. He decided that pain knew no shame and pulled the blanket over his head and refused to get up.

Howlett took one look at him and gruffly said he'd call in a sick day to the school. His voice and the dull ache of Raven's concern eventually faded and then Charles was left in the relative darkness of his blanket sanctuary.

–

He slept a little longer until workmen started moving furniture downstairs, a noisy distraction so topical to the root of his problems he had to at least sit up.

His eyes were gritty and sore, and his skin felt tacky. His shirt also smelled surprisingly terrible, no doubt from a night spent tossing and turning and sweating out his anxiety. He tore it over his head and tossed it to the floor just as his bedroom door flew open.

Erik stalked in, hand still outstretched from where he'd used it on the door knob.

They stared at each other in surprise.

Charles got a flash of himself from Erik's mind – pale narrow shoulders, hair a ludicrous tangle falling over startled blue eyes. A second later the image was gone, but Charles was already reaching for his blanket and pulling it up and around himself. He already knew he still looked like a little kid compared to Erik, and now he got to be reminded of that even without the aid of mirrors, great.

“You – weren't at school,” Erik said after a moment. He was looking away from Charles, around the room, overly casual, and his voice was stiff.

“Yeah, I was, uh, sick.” He didn't know how he could sound like he was lying even as the headache pulsed brightly behind his eyes. Erik obviously didn't believe him, if the unhappy line of his mouth was anything to go by.

Erik dropped his bag, a heavy _thunk_ as his bat clattered against the wood floor. Then he sat down against the wall, knees up. The two of them then sat there in one of those awkward angry silences Charles had thought they were finally past.

Charles couldn't get a read on Erik's emotions at all, and the headache made him stop trying pretty quickly. He was almost too tired to care. Almost.

“About what I said yesterday,” Erik finally mumbled. “You can, you know, forget it. It's not that big a deal. I don't want to, like – exploit you or whatever.”

“...What?” Charles stared at him dumbly. For a few moments he honestly couldn't recall what Erik was talking about, but then the conversation about the baseball team came flooding back. “ _Oh!_ Oh, that.”

Erik narrowed his eyes, “Yeah, _that_.” He sounded almost offended, like he could countenance Charles not agreeing to the plan, but how dare he forget about it. Erik irritably reached up and adjusted his hat, tugging the brim lower and squaring it against his forehead.

Staring at that stupid fucking hat, it really hit Charles, suddenly – the full impact of his new shitty reality; he was going to move away.

Never mind worrying about mutant powers or weird gay crushes – there was a very real possibility that he might never see Erik ever again. The one bright point in the long drag of the school year, the person who made Molesworth-on-Hudson actually _bearable_ , who was more _alive_ than anyone else Charles had ever known and who Charles for some reason cared about impressing – no matter how stupid his clothes or hobbies – Erik was now finite.

And there was nothing Charles could do about it.

After a long difficult moment in which Charles thought he might give in and hyperventilate or, _god_ , cry or something, Charles reached over to his bedside table, heedless of how his blanket fell from his shoulders, and snagged the dusty baseball that was sitting there.

Erik raised his gaze just in time to catch it before it hit his face. He blinked down at it and then up again at Charles, puzzled.

Charles summoned a grin. “First game's in a week, you said?”

Erik's fingers automatically slid around to grip the ball more surely; a natural pitcher's grip, because he was good at pretty much everything baseball. He looked at Charles, uncharacteristically hesitant, and nodded.

“Well, better get practicing. I heard Coach wanted you back on the team.”

Erik shot to his feet, hollering triumphantly, heedless of the workers or Charles's mother downstairs. He jumped around like a fool and shook Charles by the shoulders. His eyes were wide and clear and _happy_ ; the future was set.

Charles gripped his own leg tightly where it was hidden beneath the blanket and hung on to his own smile with all his might; it was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter got a little long (well, long for this particular fic), so I ended up cutting it in two. The next chapter will definitely be the final one, I promise!


	11. The Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Less than a foot made the difference between a hero and a bum."
> 
> \- Pitcher Grover Alexander

Charles rode into school with Raven like usual the next day.

Howlett had become a lot more grumpy about driving them around now that he knew the family was leaving; Charles had spied several crumpled copies of a resume amidst the usual ash and empties on the front seat of his personal car. Apparently employment in Westchester didn't come much sweeter than the rich and vaguely negligent Xavier estate.

Charles would miss him, he thought as they passed over the bridge into town.

“Have you told Erik yet?” Raven asked abruptly.

He didn't look away from the window. “Nope.”

“Don't you think he should know that his best friend is moving halfway across the world?”

“It's only across the Atlantic,” Howlett muttered from the front. “Don't they teach you kids geography?”

They both ignored him.

Charles shrugged uncomfortably, imagining how that conversation would go. “I'm going to make it up to him.”

Raven gave him a skeptical look and turned back to her own window with a judging sigh.

–

The tricky thing about small town sports teams is that people really _cared_ about them. Like, _a lot_.

Molesworth-on-Hudson might have been a tiny school district with some of the lowest test scores in the state, but their football team won State back in '88, and the town was still cruising on that high.

So if Charles was going to manipulate the school into letting Erik back on the team _and_ make it stick for longer than Charles was going to be around – he was going to be smart about it.

Smart, like – have the principal and coach write in to the local paper about the importance of equal opportunity for all youth, regardless of genetics. You know, that kind of smart.

It took a couple of days to build the bare minimum of logic in the two men's minds, and Charles was in almost constant pain, but, well – in the end, John Allerdyce was so excited, he printed an early edition of the _Molesworth-on-Hudson Telgram._

–

Erik was called to the principal's office during fourth period Social Studies on Thursday. He was bewildered and belligerent, about to protest, so Charles pushed all the calm he could summon onto him.

And, okay, judging by the sudden laxness of Erik's posture and dopey expression, he might have overdone it a little. But after a moment of chagrin, Charles decided that it probably didn't hurt his chances.

–

Erik returned wholly sober half an hour later with a folded gold uniform. The teacher still had to tell him to sit down three times before he stopped staring at Charles and obeyed.

Charles smiled back reassuringly.

Everything was falling into place.

–

The next day wasn't a special game for anyone else in the league. It was only a few weeks into the season, and they were playing Frewsburg, a town they didn't even have an established rivalry with.

And yet the stands were full of people curious to see what all the fuss was about. As Charles took his seat in the bleachers, waiting for Raven to join him, he had to work to block out some of the uglier thoughts. He was jittery like it was the damn World Series.

“Hey.”

Charles looked up; Erik was standing a few feet away. He hadn't switched out his hat yet, and the maroon and purple clashed horribly with the uniform.

“Hey, come warm up with me.” Erik tossed a ball up in the air and caught it absently, his eyes fixed on Charles.

Charles raised an eyebrow and gestured over to where the rest of the team was stretching and throwing balls back and forth. “Shouldn't you be warming up with them? Team bonding and all that, you know?”

Erik shrugged. “None of those assholes stood by me. Not you like you.” He tossed the ball at Charles.

Erik was conveniently forgetting that, by all accounts, he was a terrible winner and a glory-hog; the rest of the team couldn't stand him because he was an absolute tyrant on the field. The whole mutant thing really just added a layer of fear.

Charles looked down at the ball in his hands, ran his finger over the stitching. Did they even have baseball in England?

“Charles, _c'mon._ ” Erik made the bleacher row behind Charles give him a nudge forward.

One of the parents sitting a few feet away in Charles's peripheral vision did a double-take.

“Yeah, okay, I'm coming.” Charles hopped down from the bleachers and made his last walk out on the grass of the M-o-H baseball field.

–

When the time came for Erik's first chance up to bat, a hush fell over the crowd. The pitcher, unaware of the context, immediately straightened, thinking this must be some kind of town favorite.

Over at the plate, Erik rolled his shoulders and hefted his bat. He tossed a quick look over to Charles and Raven; Raven waved cheerily and Erik grinned back.

 _Stop flirting with Raven and get on with it._ Charles thought at Erik. The other boy gave no indication that he'd heard.

The worst – the absolute _worst_ – part about the whole moving thing was that underneath his nervousness and the heartsick heaviness at leaving Erik – underneath all that... he was kind of looking forward to it.

And, yeah, he hated himself for it, but _man_ , not as much as he hated Molesworth-on-Hudson.

The future was flying in fast. Next year would be high school – or whatever the equivalent of that was in England, he guessed. Suddenly everything that he'd taken as an irrefutable fact of life – the narrow hallways of the middle school, the dull faces and minds of the other kids and teachers, the vacant buildings and cracked asphalt around town – they were all cast in a different light, rendered somehow transient and fake. He was moving on to better things.

Except for Erik, but if the past several months had taught Charles anything, it was that he couldn't expect his friendship with Erik to make up for all the other things that made him unhappy. And it made him feel guilty as hell, because wasn't it supposed to? Wasn't that the point of friends?

Murmuring from the crowd. The wind-up, the pitch –

He was going to a new place with new possibilities – and a much better school. He'd already looked over the course offerings, and it was like a _dream_ , like something only seen in books. Where M-o-H High School had Freshman Science, Sophomore Science, and Advanced Science, his new school had actual separate Biology, Chemistry, and Physics classes of multiple tiers. Where M-o-H High School's “accelerated” math track meant doing Intro Algebra in _one_ year instead of _two_ , his new school allowed him to actually test in to higher courses. He might even get to take _C_ _alculus_ before starting college. Surely he'd be foolish _not_ to feel good about that, right?

Swing, _crack!_

Watch it _fly_.

On the field, Erik ripped off his batting helmet, threw his bat to the side, and took off running, his rarely-seen hair whipping around in the breeze. As he rounded the bases, the chain link fence separating the field from the bleachers rattled loudly, as if to make up for the lackluster clapping from the crowd.

 _What do you think, Charles?_ Erik's voice in his head sounded somehow breathless, colored with exhilaration. It was the first run he'd been allowed to make since last year. He arrived back at home plate tall and strong, temporarily blind to the crowd's suspicion and resentment, a hero of his own world.

 _...I think you're going to be great,_ Charles thought back helplessly.

And he knew Erik had heard him this time, because the bleachers started to levitate up off the ground. A chorus of gasps broke out and after a moment people began screaming and jumping off the stands in a mad panic.

As the two of them rose gently up in the air, elevated above all the yelling and everyone else at the game, Raven tucked her arm through Charles's, rested her head against his, and smiled wistfully.

“I'm going to really miss him,” she said.

“Yeah,” Charles said, mouth dry. “Me too.”

_–_

Fin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So despite the title of this chapter, I'm aware that there is a distinct lack of closure to the story and characters. That's, oh, three-parts intentional ("These kids are about to enter high school in a world that fears them, what kind of happy or even neat and clean ending could they possibly have!") and one-part failure (I, um, lost my patience). 
> 
> I have some vague notion in my head about a sequel set several years down the line (enough years that I wouldn't feel weird writing actual sex). Something like, Charles and Raven move back and get to see what kind of nightmare teenage delinquent Erik's become. Maybe Charles got into soccer over in England, I don't know. 
> 
> That last bit's probably more the influence of the World Cup than actual serious plotting. Hmm. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!


End file.
